


Four Christmases

by grimeysociety



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Christmas, Darcy Lewis Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jewish Darcy Lewis, Jewish Jane Foster, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/pseuds/grimeysociety
Summary: As handsome as he was, with Abercrombie model facial structure and superhero muscles, his best feature was his eyes.Steve Rogers had kind eyes.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff/Sam Wilson
Comments: 161
Kudos: 270





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myracingthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/gifts).



> This was written for the 2020 Shieldshock Gift Exchange. 
> 
> Alongside that, I recently had an anonymous message sent to me: _dear author. when you are in the mood to give me great pain (which would be so very appreciated) might i gift you the song “tolerate it” from our lady of the cottage taytay swift. i have been thinking of how that song fits for your particular shieldshock skill set for ages. or since the album dropped_
> 
> Expect angst. Expect smut. It's me after all. I love you and have a safe and happy holiday. ❤
> 
> For this first part I'm using the prompt "warming up from the cold by a fireplace". 
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)

_Maybe this Christmas will mean something more_  
_Maybe this year love will appear_  
_Deeper than ever before_ **  
\- "Maybe This Christmas" by Leigh Nash**

_The more that you say, the less I know_  
_Wherever you stray, I follow_  
_I'm begging for you to take my hand_  
_Wreck my plans, that's my man_ **  
\- "willow" by Taylor Swift**

_Then you kissed me-I felt_  
_hot wax on my forehead._  
_I wanted it to leave a mark:_  
_that’s how I knew I loved you._  
_Because I wanted to be burned, stamped,_  
_to have something in the end-_ **  
\- Louise Glück**

**One.**

She was alone in the foyer, every movement echoing, so she heard footsteps behind her long before the voice reached her.

“Darcy Lewis.”

Steve always said her name that way. They’d only known one another for the last few months, and she’d never had a friendship like this one. She knew Steve was an anomaly, but the tenuousness of their connection felt near constant. He was known for not being known, so in the space of time that she’d bonded with the other Avengers, he’d hardly been more than a footnote in each of her day. He was still part of every day, including this one in late December, a couple days out from Christmas.

“Hey, Steve,” she said, from her spot on the ladder. She was placing a golden bauble on a branch, turning her head slightly to look him in the eye.

She’d grown up with his comics sitting in her grandfather’s attic. She found them again once he died several years ago, when her mother was fighting with her brother over taking responsibility. Her grandfather was a hoarder, a high-functioning one, which meant every room but the kitchen, dining room and bathroom was full of things he didn’t need but also couldn’t live without.

Darcy didn’t know any of this, she thought her parents had exaggerated about the problems he had, being a Vietnam veteran with a bottle permanently attached to his hand – the older Darcy got, she’d remember little pieces of him, knowing she was told to ignore these parts of him, since her parents hardly ever spoke about any of his life after he came home from war. Grandpa Frank’s stack of Captain America comics were beside stacks of newspapers from the 80s, everything yellowed and furled from the sun coming through the dirty window, and the water damage from the leaking pipes.

The broken old man’s house became a tomb, but her parents sold it within a year of his passing, divvying up the profit with Darcy’s uncle like they were choosing to cut a couple of their own toes off. Darcy didn’t like money, it only seemed to bring out the worst in people. 

It took a few weeks after she first met Steve to understand he wasn’t the man he comics made him out to be at all. She’d only been introduced in passing, nothing monumental. It happened to Darcy always, she wasn’t the type to have the spotlight on her. It wasn’t in her job description, though she could be snarky and dramatic, she was only ever the sidekick. She wasn’t bitter about it. Given what her friends went through, she preferred not to be a main player.

As she stood on the ladder, Steve peering up at her with the half-smile she saw in her mind’s eye whenever she thought of him, she glanced away, examining her box of decorations.

“Are we the only ones here?” he asked, and she gave a little shrug.

“I guess so,” she said. “I’m not going back to Bryn Mawr anytime soon.”

She knew she’d have to, in the New Year. She could only use the excuse of work for so long. Her mom was already nagging her about coming to visit. She didn’t want to go home and feel worse when she came back. She didn’t want any of it, knowing her parents were her parents. She knew sharing any of that with Steve could be too much information, and he was an orphan. The majority of her friends were. She didn’t want to offend him, knowing he had hardly anyone from his old life. She couldn’t imagine – she kept thinking the phrase whenever they spoke. She couldn’t imagine.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here,” Steve went on, as Darcy took out a poop emoji ornament that Clint gave her. He’d scribbled the purple heart on its underside, and signed to her that she take care of herself – the K-K hands twice, together. That was yesterday before he went back to Ohio to be with his family.

Steve’s words took a second to sink in, and Darcy realized he’d thought he was alone for Christmas up until he walked into the foyer to see her decorating the tree.

“I thought you were going to Sam’s?” Darcy said.

She’d heard that through the grapevine, and revealing this would make her self-conscious if he was anyone else. If he thought she’d been nosy, he didn’t show it, shaking his head now.

“Nah, his mom had a fall, she broke her hip,” he said.

Darcy felt her stomach drop. “ _No_ … is she okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I just didn’t want to be in the way.”

Darcy nodded back at him. They fell into silence and she was relieved – Sam was starting to worry about his widow mother more and more, knowing she was in New Orleans surrounded by friends but still aging faster than he liked. Darcy held his hand last week when he said she’d lied about how bad her eyesight had become.

“I was gonna go to the store, before it gets too crowded again,” Steve said, jutting his thumb in the direction he came from. “Do you need anything?”

“I’ve just been,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Bought the tree and everything.”

“It’s synthetic, right?” he said, and she nodded.

It was sort of cute that he didn’t use the word ‘fake’. She put the poop emoji on a branch. She felt his eyes on her, not leaving yet.

“Be careful on the ladder,” he said eventually, and she nodded.

He turned away and she watched him leave, head down, and she called out:

“I’m baking soon, come by later?”

She meant the TV room. Everyone meant the TV room when they wanted to hang out. Either that, or someone indicated the roof, but that was for the summertime, usually. She watched him slow down a little, her offer hitting him, and he simply said:

“Yeah.”

-

The TV room had a plasma screen as wide as Darcy was tall. It was obscene and unnecessary but now Darcy was spoiled, and her laptop screen wasn’t good enough for Netflix anymore. She saw Steve return, the main gates opening for the car he borrowed, parking by the main building and coming in with not a lot.

She had her feet up on the coffee table, a plate of ginger bread cookies beside her, a mug of hot chocolate in her lap. She thought about having something harder, but she was tired already. She’d be falling asleep soon, probably drooling into the cushions, but once Steve walked in she perked up, trying not to sit too straight, or seem too interested in how good he looked in his jacket.

She was attracted to him. If anyone asked her that, she wouldn’t deny it. It would be a little weird to lie, it would make it more obvious that she absolutely did find him handsome as hell. His eyes swung to the TV screen, his hands on his hips.

“So what are we watching, Darcy Lewis?”

“Currently a few minutes into _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ ,” she murmured, licking her lips. “Do you want me to start over?”

“Nah, all good,” he murmured, sitting next to her, the space between them feeling both too far and too small.

He pulled in breath and let it go, taking off his jacket to put aside. His sweater underneath was navy and understated, well taken care of, whereas Darcy’s own sweater had holes in it, from times when she’d let Natasha and Bucky’s cat sit on her.

“Do you need context?” Darcy murmured, sipping more from her mug.

Steve gave her a little smile, eyes searching her face. “We’ll see.”

Darcy felt her stomach flutter and it was unfair, to happen to her now, when she was made vulnerable by the holidays, alone with him. As handsome as he was, with Abercrombie model facial structure and superhero muscles, his best feature was his eyes.

Steve Rogers had kind eyes, curtained by thick lashes Darcy envied. He had freckles, which she hadn’t noticed before that night.

She remembered staring at his ass when he walked away from her last week. His pants were hugging his curves, his hands rubbing together as he blew on them, walking through the snow across the field. He was talking to Sam, who also had a great ass. Darcy didn’t discriminate. She felt different now, though, sitting here with him.

She hoped, and also dreaded, him noticing this shift in her. It was December 23rd and she had so many opportunities ahead of her to be foolish.

She made herself look away, burying herself deeper into the couch, eyes ahead and watching the movie instead of watching him like she wanted to. Every so often, she heard his soft chuckles. He was enjoying himself, this childhood favorite of Darcy’s. Something about that felt important, him seeing these things she liked and enjoying them, too. Their evening together felt like an offering, and she was glad he hadn’t turned it down out of his self-preservation Darcy detected within seconds of first laying her eyes on him months ago.

For a movie that tended to go by in a blink of an eye, it stretched on and on, punctuated by little sounds Steve made. He giggled at one point, the sound making Darcy grin, hiding it from him a second later.

When it was over, Darcy turned to him, lifting her brow.

“So, verdict?”

“Great,” he said, quiet and genuine. His eyes shifted to the plate of cookies on the table.

“Go ahead,” she said, and he leaned over, taking one shaped like a Christmas tree and bit it in half.

With Steve’s mouth full and looking pleasantly surprised, Darcy smiled.

“Good?”

He nodded, humming.

-

Darcy ignored her mom’s text that was layered with passive aggression the following afternoon, her hands on her hips as she took in the Christmas tree standing in the foyer. She’d switched on the lights, watching them flash and shift from white to gold and then red and purple. She heard Steve come in when she was done putting presents under the tree, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor, echoing around.

“Who are those for?” he asked, and Darcy glanced up, pretending she hadn’t been waiting for him to show up.

Last night, she’d fallen asleep during Klaus. She’d seen it already and loved it but had struggled to stay awake on the comfy couch, especially with the fire going. The cozy overload of the TV room, along with Steve’s steady breathing beside her had lulled her to sleep halfway through, and she woke toward the end, Steve murmuring:

“Welcome back.”

He stood beside her as Darcy remained crouched on the floor, pushing a box to place it beside the others in the pile under the tree.

“At least two of those are for Bucky and Nat,” Darcy murmured. “Since they’re not back until after Christmas, they can stay there.”

The couple had gone to Europe the day after Thanksgiving, surprising no-one. Though Bucky had often indicated he had little intention of living in the Real World anymore, he wanted time alone with Natasha. She’d mentioned Paris _once_ when they weren’t even dating and he’d booked tickets for them both, sending a message through the group chat their plans on Halloween.

“I’m happy for them,” Steve said, and Darcy gave a little smile, agreeing. “What about the others?”

“One for Jane,” she murmured. “And some others.”

She’d gone out that morning to get a few more things, vowing it was the last time she’d be out for the rest of the holiday. It was Christmas Eve and it had been a nightmare in the parking lot in the town closest to the compound. She’d nearly been clipped twice, and people were walking everywhere with their carts full to the brim, last-minute shoppers not caring about personal space or traffic guides. Whatever she didn’t have she’d just have to live without until the day after tomorrow, she decided, making sure she had the largest bottle of Fireball whiskey she could find before she left.

It was obvious then that she’d got Steve something, and his brows lifted slightly, eyes falling to the other wrapped presents she hadn’t named. Darcy gave a little smile.

“Okay,” he said. His broad arms folded and Darcy felt watched, twisting around to the carrier bag she had beside her, reaching in and pulling out a gold star.

“I need your help,” she said, and he blinked at her. “It’s battery-powered and lights up, but it does not hang itself.”

She took it out of its clear packaging, shoving the batteries in she’d bought alongside it, before standing up to hand it to Steve. He could reach the top of the tree on tip-toe, not disappointing her as he took it, switching it on at the base before extending his arm up, Darcy watching his muscles grow taut as he stretched.

He placed it, setting back down on his heels, eyes falling to Darcy’s. They were standing closer, Darcy’s stomach flipping at that warm gaze of his.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and she stepped away, ducking to gather up the rest of her things. “You had lunch?”

“No,” he said. “You don’t have to –”

Darcy cut him off, not allowing his objection. “I’m having frozen pizza, I’ll put a couple in for you.”

His sentence stopped abruptly and he nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Being familiar with him didn’t feel wrong. She didn’t think she was invading his space, or pushing him too far with how she wanted to look after him. She knew he was probably getting texts and phone calls from the others, checking in so he wasn’t miserable, but it would be crazy not to spend time with him on Christmas.

They ate in the kitchen, Darcy sitting on the edge of the counter as Steve leaned against the sink, Darcy’s feet swinging.

“I need to chop more firewood,” Steve murmured, looking outside.

It was snowing again. It was supposed to snow all day and night. It was just as well Darcy had no intention of leaving – the roads were blocked all around the county.

“Don’t go out there,” Darcy said, and he glanced her way, a small smile forming.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t, actually,” Darcy retorted, and Steve shoved the remainder of his slice in his mouth, brushing crumbs away from his hands. “We have heating –”

“You don’t want a fireplace on Christmas Eve, Darcy Lewis?” he said, and Darcy halted, huffing a little. “It would be nice. I think it would be _nice_ –”

“Stop it,” Darcy snapped, but she’d begun to laugh. “You’re so full of shit. You’re only saying that because you know I’m secretly an elf.”

“Secretly?” he repeated, brows hiking.

He turned away from her and Darcy whispered.

“Asshole.”

He snorted, giving her a little wink as he moved away, and within a few minutes he appeared in the window, waving at her as he walked through the snow, axe in hand, heading toward a shed by the field. Darcy shook her head at him, unable to keep the smile from her face.

Though he was enhanced, when he returned half an hour later, wagon full of firewood that he pulled into the TV room, bringing dirt and snow with him, his nose was red from the cold.

Darcy handed him a mug of hot chocolate wordlessly, which he took, that pleasant surprise back from last night.

“Thank you…”

He sipped it, smacking his lips, putting it aside, carefully putting a coaster underneath it, watching it as if it may topple, before he turned back to the fireplace and assessed it in a crouch.

Darcy sat back, watching him build the fire instead of the TV, which was playing a Christmas _Simpsons_ episode. She liked watching the long slope of his back and shoulders as he moved around. At one point, he took of his shoes and tucked his socks inside them, Darcy’s stomach flipping at the sight of his bare feet. He turned his head at one point, watching the TV, face pulling into a smile.

He had the sweetest smile. Darcy quickly looked away in case he caught her, sipping a tumbler of Fireball whiskey. She wasn’t going to overdo it. She didn’t want Steve to deal with that particular mess, her slurring and oversharing she was inclined to give when she got drunk.

Steve went back in for more of his drink, only to find he’d finished it, his brow furrowing. Darcy allowed him to see her smirk when he glanced her way.

“Want another?”

He nodded. “Please.”

He surprised her by following her into the kitchen, his empty mug in Darcy’s hand as she went to the kettle to switch it on. She’d gone all out, buying the gourmet stuff from the store, real chocolate that melted, mixed with milk she warmed on the stove. Steve leaned against the counter, chin resting on his hand.

“I’m taking notes,” he murmured, and Darcy gave a little smile, eyes averted.

She put a little cinnamon sugar on top when she was done, passing the mug to him. He sniffed it, before putting it to his lips and taking a sip.

“Who’s in Bryn Mawr?” he asked, breaking their comfortable silence.

Darcy’s eyes swung away, trying to think of a way to phrase it without sounding ungrateful. Her parents were still alive and kicking.

When they die, would she be sad? She didn’t know. It was a treacherous thought. Maybe she’d be frustrated, annoyed forever they weren’t who she needed. She didn’t know how she was their daughter.

“My parents,” she said eventually, leaning back against the stove. “Who are disappointed I’m not with them, making them hot chocolate.”

Steve’s smile faded a little, detecting her hurt. Darcy was too obvious, her angst was seeping out before she slapped a bandage on it, like always. Her lips parted, her hand running through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts into something less acidic.

“God, I dunno. I disappoint them daily,” she added. “But it’s fine.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Steve said, and she hated that.

Captain America was telling her he thought her family life was sad. She didn’t want to refer to Steve as that, in fact, she’d never called him Cap or Rogers or anything other than his given name. The way she’d phrased it over the years to Jane was ‘I don’t get along with my family’. She hated them. She avoided them and since she’d left for college she’d grown used to being without them. She could breathe, but it was like standing on tip-toes at the deep end of a swimming pool, her chin under water.

All this she thought of within a beat, the old hurt, the eternal wound that never fully healed. She knew if she’d gone home, she’d be wanting to hide away in her old bedroom that was simultaneously too young for her yet if her mother told her she’d turned it into something else she’d break Darcy’s heart.

“Surprised you weren’t staying with your boyfriend,” he murmured.

Darcy felt her cheeks heat, at the mention of anything close to romance. She had to think back, remember a whole other person, among the fog of the last few weeks leading up to Christmas.

“Ian?” Darcy said, and he nodded. “No, we broke up months ago.”

He didn’t seem surprised, yet he was bringing him up as if he was ignorant. He blinked, his expression unreadable. Darcy felt an awkwardness set in her, wanting to say more but also not knowing how to order her words.

“You… you wanna have dinner with me?” she said, and he turned warm again, sipping his mug.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

-

Darcy’s plan for her Christmas Eve dinner was pretty lackluster, but Steve seemed to appreciate it, eating with her at one of the dining tables. It was tater tots, green beans and a veggie burger with plenty of hot sauce. He ate the equivalent of an entire bag of tater tots without breaking a sweat, and polished off the rest of the green beans, going back to the kitchen to fry some eggs he returned with. He put so much away that he made Darcy seem like a baby bird by comparison.

“Guess I should keep that in mind for tomorrow,” Darcy murmured, and Steve looked up from his plate, after he’d put pepper on his eggs. “I keep forgetting you eat for a family of four.”

“I can help you,” he said, a little sheepish. “With prepping…”

“It’s only a roast turkey. I wasn’t gonna do a ham, too. Also, the pie’s store bought. I’m kinda cheating."

“Sounds great,” Steve said, and she could tell he meant it. “But I can still help –”

“Yeah, I know,” she murmured, and she ducked her gaze to her plate, giving a little smile. “You’re very helpful.”

They fell silent, eating and drinking the beer Steve brought to the table. Darcy liked that she didn’t feel the need to fill every space between them with words. She found herself unafraid of him escaping her, and she knew the situation helped, that they were all one another had that night and tomorrow.

“Can’t believe it’s Christmas again,” Darcy murmured, picking up her bottle to sip it, shaking her head.

Steve did a similar gesture, pulling in a breath. “Buck joked before that he sneezed on his birthday and then it was December.”

Darcy smirked. “How is he?”

His text updates had been further apart, the same as Nat’s. 

“Good,” Steve said, smiling. “Really, really good.”

Despite the cynicism that took refuge in Darcy in the worst ways, she was happy for Bucky and Nat. She was so happy for them that sometimes she expected the good feelings to twist into something else, like a spite that could creep up on her.

She didn’t miss having a boyfriend because of them, either. They had their own space in her head, and it didn’t feel forced. She wasn’t trying to be a good friend to them, it was incredibly easy to be Bucky Barnes’ friend, it turned out. Her middle school self wouldn’t believe her if she told her. She didn’t think her younger self would recognize her, for so many reasons beyond monsters and aliens.

Darcy ducked her gaze to her plate, keeping her smile there.

“I think they’re gonna double down on trying to get me out more,” Steve said, putting his fork down for a second, and if Darcy knew better she would ignore how he seemed to become self-conscious with this.

Her mind wasn’t kind to her, telling her to stop thinking Steve could possibly be embarrassed around her. He was too handsome, too large for her tiny life. She pushed aside the inner bully for a second, telling herself he had other choices – he could have declined her dinner invitation, pretended he had something more important to do.

“Yeah, like dating?” Darcy said, and he nodded, scrunching his nose for a second.

She’d never seen him make that face before, and it made him so much younger for a passing moment, before it melted away.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They want me to try harder.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Darcy said, with a little tut. “What makes them think you’re not trying?”

He paused, and Darcy glanced up, thinking he had misheard her, or not at all.

“I guess I’m not,” he said, face falling a little. “It’s…”

“It’s a lot,” Darcy said, and he nodded, shutting his mouth. “I shouldn’t – I mean, it’s not my place, I have no idea what… what you’ve been through.”

“Maybe some idea,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.

She didn’t feel so… far away from him then. It was a strange place, an in-between. He was referring to her working alongside him and his friends. Their friends. Were they friends, too? She could remember many of their conversations, nothing too deep. Nothing deeper than admitting to one another that they were tired or longing for something.

She remembered she heard him sigh, guard down for two seconds when she stopped beside him in the kitchen, back in the fall, the air turning colder overnight.

“You want dessert?” she said suddenly, and he blinked at her, words not sticking for a few seconds.

His face slackened and Darcy was relieved.

“Yeah, please,” he said. “What do you have?”

“Ice cream good?” she said, getting up before he could reply.

She needed to be busy, doing things for him. Food was a good start. Maybe tomorrow she’d give him that present and he wouldn’t feel obligated to like it. Maybe he’d just _like_ it. She could coax him into some kind of state of near-relaxation before everyone came back in a few days. Then she’d move into the New Year without feeling like a fuck-up. He was reminding her more of what she lacked.

It was Ben & Jerry’s, with chocolate fudge chunks. She gave herself a little serving and then doubled it for him, coming back to his side of the table and putting the bowl next to his arm.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she breathed, eyes averted, and she meant it.

She said everything in a gentle way, to try to soothe herself. She wanted him to believe that she was gentle and kind, sitting opposite him as they shared their meals.

The ice cream was making Darcy shiver, her spoon clinking in the little dish. Steve looked up from his bowl, their eyes meeting.

“Let’s go sit on the couch.”

She nodded, rising with him, and they walked out. The movements were fluent enough. Darcy felt a comfort in how he reached over her to flip the light switch, the room going dark as they left it. Darcy slipped into her usual spot on the couch, feet tucked under her as she put her spoon back in her mouth, Steve sitting beside her.

She didn’t remember him sitting this close last time. He gave a little sigh, his arm behind Darcy’s head, his bowl in his other hand, eyes catching hers again before he glanced back at the fire.

“It’s fine,” Darcy murmured, and he gave her a little nod. “Just stay there.”

The TV stayed off. Darcy didn’t want it on. She didn’t think they needed it, they seemed fine with their dessert and each other. She thought of her phone in her pocket, but she didn’t want to take it out. She took a deep breath.

“How does this compare to last year?” she asked.

“It’s different,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy murmured. “As in…?”

“Well, every Christmas is usually pretty different,” Steve murmured. “Compared to what they were like, way back. When I was a kid, they were just another day.”

Darcy knew the Great Depression was… depressing. She knew he would have made the most of it, with Bucky, and his mother when she was alive.

“Last year, we were stuck in North Africa,” he said. “Didn’t feel like Christmas.”

“You didn’t really get a break,” Darcy said, and his eyes met hers, a little frown forming. “From what I heard, at least. We were still in Norway.”

“It’s hard to think of presents when you’ve got a drug cartel holding an entire village for ransom,” he said, and Darcy felt her face fall a little before she could stop herself.

Steve saw it, his lips staying parted, taking in the shift of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m told I’m a little –”

“Grouchy?” Darcy finished, and he paused. “And you’re _told?_ Steve –”

“You’re right, I’m being an asshole,” he said, and Darcy felt her lips quirk, Steve’s doing the same. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Darcy said. “I… I get that it’s a bigger thing than you missing out on presents and a tree.”

“I appreciate it this year,” he said, and Darcy felt her cheeks heat.

The fire crackled, filling a space that had begun to grow. Steve put aside his bowl, leaning over, Darcy’s eyes watching the movements of his back muscles again, appreciating it quietly, secretly.

She licked her spoon, sucking it into her mouth, her own bowl empty, too. Steve leaned on his elbow, turning his body toward Darcy’s. She was aware of each time he moved, how he sounded, how he looked when he took her in.

Darcy put the spoon in her empty bowl next to Steve’s, mirroring him on the couch, making herself look him in the eye. The longer she did it, the less it was supposed to feel overwhelming, right?

“You definitely got me a gift, then?” he murmured, and Darcy snorted.

“Um…”

“Because I felt that was obvious,” he went on, leaning a little closer, voice dropping, Darcy’s treacherous stomach fluttering. “And I’ll feel like less of a jackass if you tell me–”

“Did you get me something?” Darcy said, grinning at him.

His eyes fell to her mouth. “Maybe, Darcy Lewis.”

Darcy knew then that he’d been saying her name the same way every time because he liked to say her name. He liked to say her name because he liked _her_. She stumbled a little, realizing all this.

“And – and what if I did?”

He kissed her, catching her lip between his two, Darcy’s eyes falling shut at the sudden touch. She knew he was only so far away from her, but he’d still managed to sneak up on her, firm lips on hers. Darcy took a deep breath, breathing alongside him, stomach dropping.

She knew she was being tentative. She waited for him to withdraw, but this all felt too deliberate. Darcy wasn’t used to that kind of intentional kiss. She and Ian were bound together by a rushed kiss in London for a year before they called it quits. He was the intern and she was the one that told him they hadn’t planned anything, and they were making to most of things.

Steve didn’t seem the type to do the same, not by the kiss he gave her, or the next one that had his tongue tease the seam of Darcy’s lips, but she kept her hands to herself, which was so unlike her.

He sighed, Darcy mimicking him when he pushed past her lips, tongue slipping in to meet hers. It was slow, slow and tender. It made Darcy’s chest ache, it was too much, almost. Steve didn’t do anything in halves, by how he kissed her with no rush, a thoroughness that meant the groan she’d kept inside made its way up from the back of her throat.

His hands were huge. Darcy noticed that more as he took hold of either side of her face, sucking on her tongue a little, their lips smacking, a sigh ebbing from his mouth. They kept going, Darcy’s face burning when he finally released her, her hands finding their way to hook into his shirt.

Their eyes met and Steve’s were glazed with lust, his lips pink and wet. He went back in with an open mouth, Darcy’s breath hitching at the force of him, her insides turning molten as he took hold of her waist to pull her into his lap. Darcy felt he was hard, settling on top of him, his lips trailing down her cheek to her throat. She rolled her hips, his soft grunt echoing in her mind, and she told herself the universe might yell ‘sike’ at any point.

She was going through every moment before this one, when they shared a room, and whether there had been signs this could happen. It was the holidays, Steve could be feeling lonely and this was a way to cope. If that was the case, Darcy didn’t mind. It wouldn’t be the best idea to try to pretend this hadn’t happened when everyone came back.

Darcy knew herself well enough. She didn’t care if this would be deemed a mistake. She wanted this. She was attracted to him, and she could build a wall around herself if it came to that. She’d done it many times before. It was one of the plethora of reasons that she and Ian didn’t work out. She was terrible at commitment. Not that she didn’t want to – she absolutely did, but her methods were chaotic and overwhelming. She was a novice at love.

But she wasn’t in love with Steve.

She kissed him back, harder than before, taking hold of his jaw to keep him in place, his hands slipping down her curves, settling on her ass, grinding into her. When Darcy broke away, he chased her lips, murmuring:

“My place?”

Their noses brushed, their tongues tangling again, kissing for a while longer before Darcy answered, beginning to pant.

“Y-yeah…”

He scooped her up, surprising her. She expected she’d walk with him, but he wanted to hold her the whole way, kissing the side of her face and neck as he carried her out of the TV room, into the hallway that showed the snowed-in courtyard Nat sat in most mornings.

Steve’s apartment was similar to Darcy’s, a reader on the front door for his palm, his décor sparse. Darcy noted the record player on a shelf, his little couch, no TV.

It was dark but warm, like the rest of the compound each winter night. The rooms flooded with light as Steve moved them inside, Darcy’s thighs still wrapped around his narrow waist, tilting her head to kiss him on the mouth once more.

He set her down in the hallway to his bedroom, eyes settling on Darcy’s mouth, his knuckles brushing her cheek.

“You want a drink?” he murmured.

“I want you to fuck me,” she retorted, and his lips curled.

He backed her into his room until Darcy’s legs hit his mattress and she fell backwards, feeling her first smile in a little while. She shifted her legs apart, reaching for Steve to pull her into him by his belt, starting to unbuckle it.

Steve as an audience made her feel simultaneously bright and too large, yet so much smaller than him. He kept touching her, on her shoulder, her hair, her face as she undid his pants, her hand reaching in to feel his dick, thick and warm, hard in her palm as she squeezed.

She pushed down his underwear, pulling him out, eyes falling to see all of him, every ridge and vein. There was a glistening bead of precome at the tip, Darcy’s thumb brushing through it that she put to her mouth, sucking with her eyes swinging up to Steve’s face. He was flushed, lips parted as Darcy ducked down, taking him in her mouth as far as she could go.

He gave another little grunt, fingers digging into her scalp. Not enough to yank or sting, but enough to make his point known. Darcy’s head began to bob as she sucked and ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, so eager to do this. She knew she was good a blow jobs. If this happened once, at least he’d know she gave it 110%. Darcy didn’t do much in halves, either.

She drew back, spitting and slicking him up further, getting Steve sloppy wet, and he surprised her again, tilting her face back up to kiss her hard, pushing her until she was falling onto her back.

He pulled off his shirt and Darcy was distracted as she tried to rid herself of her own, staring at the way he was _built_ –

“Jesus,” she whispered, and he kissed her again, his hands yanking down her leggings and underwear swiftly, tossing them aside.

He crawled up her, arms wrapping around her as he buried himself in her neck, their hips rolling together, lips chasing skin, and Darcy moaned in his ear, feeling his fingers brush her cunt.

Reality was catching up with her. She was going to have sex with Steve. It was terrifying, but that was exactly why she had to do it. It was plain stupid not to, when he wanted her, too, and they were alone. It was Christmas Eve and she’d done everything right all year. This couldn’t be a mistake. If it was something that never happened again, at least it happened –

“Don’t need a condom,” she whispered, and he pulled back, searching her face. “I’m clean, I’m on the pill –”

“Yeah?” he murmured, and she nodded.

He kissed her lips, heady like before, so thorough Darcy was light-headed, their legs rearranging, Steve’s hips meeting hers, his hand slipping down to grab her ass, tilting her up –

The charged silence was stretched out as he first pushed inside her, Darcy’s breath held, Steve doing the same, lips bumping –

“Ah,” he whispered, and Darcy felt her face flush again. “Fuck.”

He went still, their noses brushing, his hips retreating, before he shifted back into her, Darcy’s eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. He made her feel so full it bordered on too much, until his thumb began to slowly circle Darcy’s clit, his hips thrusting steadily, a slow build of pleasure.

It was intense for a one-night stand. She’d obviously tell Jane all about this, swear her to secrecy, perhaps a blood oath. She’d tell her how he’d tapped into something she hadn’t felt before. How else could she explain it? It was like Steve was in her blood, moving with her, their bodies moulded to one another.

It was slow and hard, Darcy’s teeth gritting as she clung to him, Steve hitting a spot that made her cry out, unable to keep it in anymore. He watched her face, but Darcy wasn’t able to keep looking him in the eye the whole time – it was a lot, seeing him seeing all of her. She still had her bra on, remembering it and fumbling the clasp as Steve began to speed up his thrusts.

She was whimpering, her chest bare and jiggling – God, she didn’t want to think about that or she would ruin this. It didn’t matter what he saw beneath him, this wasn’t a boyfriend and girlfriend making love, it wasn’t so precious as that.

“Keep going,” Darcy whispered. “Harder. _Harder_ –”

He obliged, Darcy groaning, Steve doing the same as she clenched around him, so near to her end that she was trembling with the effort, twisting under him.

Her climax slammed into her, punching the air out of her as his room dissolved, Steve’s hips never faltering. He kissed her, sloppier than before, hot and demanding, and he let her have it – pinning her to the mattress with his bulk, their moaning mixing and rising.

He cupped her breast, rolling it and hissing, his other hand pushing her hair back from her forehead, lips hovering above hers.

“Can I come inside you?” he whispered, and Darcy nodded, Steve sinking into another kiss.

He sighed, Darcy’s arms circling his neck in an embrace. His hair was mussed, his cheeks blotchy as he came, messy and beautiful and raw. She felt him jump and spill inside her, shivering as he pulled back to look down at her again, noses brushing.

His fingers brushed her face, stroking, and Darcy’s guts twisted. She swallowed, trying to push herself back under, not wanting to breathe above the water anymore. Steve let her out from under him, murmuring:

“Don’t go too far.”

She nodded, walking into his bathroom to clean up. On her way back, she picked up her underwear and pulled them back on, slipping in beside Steve again, facing him.

He’d fallen asleep, long lashes on his cheeks as his chest rose and fell. Darcy settled down, wondering if she should leave eventually. She didn’t want to, not unless he told her to. She knew she’d have some type of delayed reaction to this fuck. A few hours from now it would hit her and she’d be hiding away, her mind straying already.

His pillows were soft. His bed was warm. She could stay, rest her eyes until it turned awkward.

His hand seemed to come out of nowhere, squeezing her hip as he drew in a deep breath. He blinked at her, that half-smile there.


	2. Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a summary of this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-oP3KFe4ko)
> 
> edit: the second prompt used is "Chopping down a tree at a tree lot".

_Oh, the glory of it all was lost on me_  
_'Til I saw how hard it'd be to reach you_  
_And I would always be light years, light years away from you_  
**\- "Light Years" by The National**

_"it's fine"_  
_nothing is fine nothing is fine_  
_nothing is fine nothing is fine_  
_nothing is fine nothing is fine_  
_nothing is fine nothing is fine_  
_nothing is fine nothing is fine_  
**\- "lies" by angl-baby**

_You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I_  
_I break free and leave us in ruins?_  
_Took this dagger in me and removed it?_  
_Gain the weight of you then lose it_  
_Believe me, I could do it_  
**\- "tolerate it" by Taylor Swift**

**Two.**

“What about this one?”

Darcy asked the question half-heartedly. They’d already been there fifteen minutes and she knew Steve’s patience had worn thin some time ago, long before they’d got there. She was grinning and bearing it, her natural state. She found herself in the role of the peacekeeper. It was the world against Steve and she was the one in between, even on Christmas Eve, when they were supposed to be having a relaxing time.

“It’s like all the others,” Steve said. He adjusted the axe on his shoulder, giving the tree next to Darcy a long glance before his gaze shifted to the little line of them they’d walked down. “They’re all the same, Darce. Let’s just pick one and go.”

“They’re not all the same,” Darcy retorted, her irritation coming to the surface.

The Christmas tree farm an hour from the compound was teeming with people, everyone weaving around each other for their last minute purchase. Darcy knew she didn’t have a lot of options, so maybe she needed to follow Steve’s advice and grab what they could. She hated that he was right, yet again.

He closed his eyes, giving his head a little shake, before his eyes went back to assessing the crowd, guarding them both with his eyes scanning the scene.

“We could’ve had this argument three days ago,” Steve muttered.

Darcy’s heart sunk a little. If Steve was acknowledging how tense it was between them, something was truly off. She swallowed the feelings down, and they picked the tree she stood next to, throwing it into the trunk of the car they’d borrowed to drive all the way out there. It was big enough that if Darcy turned her head in her chair she ran the risk of hitting her face with a branch or two. She knew it would take a while to clean up all the bits left behind, but it was worth it. They had a tree now, and she’d meant to replace the fake one Bucky stole.

“I didn’t think it was going to be an argument,” Darcy said, finally breaking their silence. “Three days ago, I was busy shopping for other things. And… then I decided I wanted a tree after all. I could’ve come alone-”

“But then you’d have cut down a tree all by yourself, while I’m sitting on the couch like a lazy jackass,” Steve cut in, turning his blinker on to change lanes. “And then you’d have driven all the way back.”

“This was meant to be a nice time,” Darcy said, glaring at the side of his face, seeing his jaw tick. “I just wanted you to try, a little, to let me enjoy this.”

“I told you three days ago that the trees might be running out, and the crowds would be nuts,” he retorted.

He was seconds away from saying ‘I told you so’ but he never did, it was like it was too low for him to actually say it out loud, but everything else he said and did projected it onto Darcy. He wasn’t smug, but his righteousness made Darcy want to claw at her own face.

They fell back into silence, Darcy’s mind of Steve as he drove. She wondered if he tortured himself over every little thing she did – she knew he didn’t. He probably thought he was right, as always. She didn’t say a word until they were back at the compound, parking the car and opening the trunk.

Steve lifted it with ease, their eyes meeting.

“Where do you want it?”

“The foyer.”

He walked through, leaving the trunk open with Darcy standing by the car, her breath in front of her face. It was a year ago today that they’d first been together. Christmas had managed to sneak up on Darcy, in a way it hadn’t before. She supposed it was because she had more to do, in her personal and professional life, and so when she was single last year she’d put more effort into making the holidays special.

She shut the trunk with a little sigh, after she’d taken the blanket out and shook it. She’d still need to get the Dyson out from the storage cabinet, because she couldn’t see Steve doing that part of the job, unless it was to make a point.

She walked into the foyer, seeing Steve had propped up the tree on a little metal stand they’d got at the farm, and she kept watching him, waiting to see if it was going to be a long afternoon or a short one. He could always sulk, but she hoped he’d put that urge aside. She thought about joking with him, like she tended to, by hunching over and imitating him with a grumpy voice that was meant to be like his… except the last time she did that ten days ago, he hadn’t smiled, and Darcy had felt like a child, so inappropriate.

It wasn’t that they fought all the time. They were going through a rough patch, it was normal to fight. Darcy knew she needed to try harder, she didn’t need to yell so much, or be so sensitive. He had good intentions, Steve never meant to hurt her. She had this ongoing commentary for months, when things turned sideways. Maybe it was her perception, because it didn’t seem like Steve was torn up over this. He didn’t tell her either way.

“Do you…?”

Darcy watched as he turned around, face slackening a little, his frown melting away.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to help?” she asked, and he looked at the tree again. “You don’t have to.”

There was the voice inside her, always testing Steve though he didn’t know it. If he does this, he loves you. If he doesn’t, he’s a bad boyfriend.

“I, uh, I’m pretty tired,” he said. “And you know I’m not as into this stuff as you.”

So Christmas Eve wasn’t so significant for him, and he couldn’t make himself try for Darcy’s own happiness. She nodded, guts twisting.

“This… stuff,” she repeated, and he gave a little sigh, realizing his mistake.

“You know I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said, and Darcy bristled.

She wasn’t being selfish. In fact, she was the one that worried about his sleep more than Steve seemed to. She sucked in a breath, turning her heel. She balled her hands into fists at her sides, hating that she still had this tendency to run away when arguments grew.

“I told you to take that pill.”

“I’m not gonna start popping pills every time I can’t sleep,” he called after her, and she heard him make a sound, something like a frustrated groan when she disappeared into the storage closet down the hallway.

She unearthed the decorations from last year, a box she kept looking at over the months, excited for this time of year, whenever she came to this closet for something else. She was always looking forward to Christmas, never actually being part of it in any way that felt slowed down or cherished, before she met Steve. This year, she thought it would be like last year, when they woke up together on Christmas morning and gave each other dinky little stationery sets, like their wires had somehow crossed.

Those felt like simpler times. Now Darcy was walking back to the tree, Steve still there, hands on his narrow hips. It meant he was staying to get something out, before he decided to win the argument.

Darcy never won any argument, even when Steve apologized and Darcy wasn’t in the wrong, and she didn’t know how to explain that to anyone, especially not Steve.

“Have you tried any pills?” Darcy said, setting the box down. “Like, at all?”

Steve hesitated and Darcy knew the answer, lifting her brows at him slightly, a fleeting triumph coming over her. She didn’t want to be right, since Steve was too stubborn to listen most of the time. Even when he thought he was being helpful, his stubbornness smothered Darcy.

“How are you supposed to know they won’t help you with your insomnia if you don’t even try?” she said, picking up some baubles to start placing them on the branches.

“Do you want me to try them?”

“I want you to want to,” Darcy said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she placed the poop emoji ornament.

She watched as Steve knelt down, picking up a piece of tinsel, staring down at it. Darcy felt a frustration rise up in her again, unable to stop it.

“Stop,” she snapped. “I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be.”

Steve put the tinsel down again, drawing in a breath and letting it go. His eyes swung up to the top of the tree, thinking but not saying anything. Darcy saw his jaw work, his hands stuffing into his pants. She watched as something passed over his face and he turned away, beginning to walk off.

“Don’t use the ladder by yourself.”

“I can use a ladder, I won’t kill myself,” Darcy retorted, wanting to get the last word in. “I’m not completely stupid.”

He stopped, spinning around. “I did not say that. Stop putting words in my mouth, Darcy.”

He sounded so much like her father then that Darcy had to look away, fresh shame flushing her cheeks, her eyes suddenly stinging. It must have shown because Steve deflated a little, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna…”

“Please go,” she mumbled, sniffling. “Just leave me alone for a little while.”

“I’m gonna chop some firewood for tonight,” he said, voice lower, sadder.

Darcy nodded, refusing to look his way. She felt the tears start to fall when he was out of sight, her chin quivering as she bit her lip, her vision blurring.

-

Darcy was silent in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, placing them in a dish for tomorrow. It was only them on the compound like last year, but Darcy had gone all out, ordering a turkey and a leg of ham. She had two desserts figured out, plus every side she thought Steve could like. He would tell her it was too much, but he’d finish everything without breaking a sweat.

She heard him come in, her body tensing a little, wondering if he was going to acknowledge her or not. He might wall himself in and she’d have to come find him later, like a lost puppy trying to find its owner. She thought of the ginger cat in _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ , thrown out of the cab in the rain.

“Darce,” he said, and she turned her head away from the sink.

“You know you’re all I’ve got, right?” she whispered, and his face fell.

He looked miserable then, guilty and wounded. He rarely looked like this. The last time was when he got home after a mission months ago, not having told Darcy he’d returned, because he didn’t want to wake her, pull her out of bed to see him in one piece. Darcy had been so offended, banging on his door the following morning when she’d come across Bucky in the kitchen.

“I need you,” Darcy went on, and Steve looked down at her feet.

He reached for her, and she dropped her peeler, turning to step into his arms, their chests pressed together. She wanted to feel held, but he hadn’t said anything else, except her name. She pulled back a little, his eyes searching her face. It wasn’t enough, him looking at her like this, when she’d spent hours since they last spoke reading too much into everything.

Her fingers wrapped around one of his wrists, his hand coming up to touch the side of her face.

“I wish we could start today over again,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Yeah, me, too.”

She’d waited and waited for this day, and she hadn’t liked how she behaved. She couldn’t control Steve, but she could try to make herself a less fiery, maybe smaller. She felt like she took up too much space always. She didn’t need to be so loud, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t feel or see her moving through the world. Why was she like this? And when was she going to stop?

“Forget about the fucking vegetables,” he murmured, and Darcy shook her head.

“I… I wanna make a big deal about it.”

“But it’s just you and me –”

“That’s exactly why, Steve,” she retorted, stepping back, turning toward the sink.

She didn’t feel as romantic then, back to being irritated. She picked up the peeler, feeling Steve come up behind her, his arms circling her, his lips pressing to the side of her face, hands slipping to her hips and squeezing.

“If it’s just you and me, I wanna make love –”

“Steve –”

He turned her head, kissing her, words failing her as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, hand cupping her jaw. Darcy let out a soft groan, spinning around, arching into him, remembering the better parts. This was one of the best parts about them, that they melted together like this when he touched her.

She would change, and he would, too. She just had to wait. She needed to hold onto this with all the strength she had, because she loved him. She loved him more than anyone else in the whole world, and she didn’t think it was possible to feel this way about anyone, ever. She thought she was exempt from it, immune.

Sometimes she felt like they invented this, how he kissed her and touched her with a type of worship Darcy could never shake.

He hitched her up in his arms, Darcy’s thighs wrapping around his middle as she gave a little sigh, his lips at her cheek and her throat, her fingers deep in his hair. He carried her into his apartment, settling on her pillows with Darcy in his lap, clothes peeled away with lips chasing each piece of skin revealed. His eyes were glued to hers as he lowered her down, and it was the same every time, the satisfying stretch of him as he buried inside her to the hilt.

Sex was like a balm. It wasn’t always, they had all types of sex. Sometimes it was so tender that Darcy couldn’t look Steve in the eye. Other times, it was rushed and giggly, a quickie on the couch or in the shower. The best times were when all Darcy had to do was reach for his hand and he followed her wherever she went, smiling at her like he couldn’t help himself, like he was in awe of her being in his clutch. Darcy liked it when he made the sounds he couldn’t keep inside, having the sex he didn’t have for decades – letting Darcy hear and witness everything.

He sighed, their mouths open in a sloppy kiss, Darcy beginning to lift up and down, Steve’s fingers digging into her side in just the right way, his eyes squeezing shut as Darcy rode.

It was slow and intense, Darcy’s moans growing a little louder the faster she went, determined to meet her end. She’d already fought with him today. It wasn’t about dignity anymore, and she didn’t think about what he saw. She shuddered over the edge, falling forward for him to catch her.

He surprised her, planting his foot and spinning them around so Darcy was beneath him, the weight of him above her a type of paradise she couldn’t properly put into words. She belonged, in every sense of the word, Steve wrecking her – catching her off-guard with the force and speed of his thrusts. Had he been waiting to fuck her all day?

She faltered, brought out of the moment by the suspicious voice inside her head.

Was he even sorry for being grumpy, or did he think he was forgiven because he was inside her?

“You okay?” he whispered, his hips not slowing, Darcy’s breaths coming in pants.

“I – yeah, I’m fine,” she whispered. “Come for me. Come for me –”

“Wanna make it last,” he said, shaking his head at her, brushing the hair from her face.

Too tender. Too comfortable. He didn’t understand the gravity of what she’d said, perhaps.

Darcy shook her head back at him. “I want you to come.”

She’d let him have this. She wouldn’t ruin their night further with her angst. She knew he never reacted to her crippling insecurity the way she wanted him to. He was always so bad at understanding that she was usually upset about more than one thing.

He caught her in a rushed kiss, his hips speeding up, his fingers snaking down between them to play with her, and Darcy wished she could let go, but she couldn’t. She didn’t fake an orgasm, she wasn’t that resigned yet.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and he came, cuddling her to his chest, his dick twitching inside her, Darcy flattened to the mattress.

She didn’t allow much time for him to recover, starting to push against him, Steve lifting up for her to slip out from under him, walking out to his bathroom to clean up. She caught her reflection in the mirror, scrubbing her face and hating how bewildered she looked when she didn’t have to perform.

“I should get back to it,” she called.

She walked back into the bedroom, seeing him on his back, passing a hand over his face as he took a deep breath. He was fighting sleep.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoed. She departed, tugging her underwear back on, stealing his sweater along the way.

-

She knew it was dumb. It was materialistic, commercial and fake. A lot about Christmas didn’t matter, especially not to Steve. He was what mattered most, Darcy knew that. She’d hoped she’d turn Christmas into something they’d have together, like a family.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, placing a present in her lap as they sat on the couch together the following morning.

She’d already forced him through opening several presents she’d given him. They were all goofy, and now it felt like she was pushing the irreverence too hard onto him. Darcy adjusted her Santa hat yet again, staring down at the present, wondering what it could be. It was a small box, wrapped neatly. She pictured Steve folding it precisely, with the same meticulousness he showed when making his bed every morning, much to her annoyance.

Darcy knew she was too messy for him. She picked up the present, feeling the weight of it in her palm.

“It’s not a ring,” he said, and Darcy’s lips parted, a little surprised he’d said that out loud.

They’d talked about it before, how Steve was from a time where people were already married with kids at Darcy’s age.

“I didn’t _expect_ a ring,” she said. Her tone was a little off, maybe she should have put on a layer or two of mirth. Maybe nudged him in the ribs for good measure.

She tore into it, seeing it was a little velvet box, about the size for an engagement ring. She pushed that observation aside, popping it open, seeing something different but still just as heavy.

Months ago, she’d been going through a shoebox he had under his bed that was full of old letters, postcards and pictures from the war. There was an argument at the time, because she found pictures of Peggy Carter among it all and he’d clammed up about her. There was an infuriating back and forth, of Darcy pretending she didn’t care and Steve insisting she didn’t need to worry, he was in love with her and not Peggy anymore. She didn’t have the heart to tell him to get rid of the pictures, since it was all he had of the woman, and she was pretty sure he’d put them in a safety deposit box in the city.

The box held the dog tags Darcy found, among the medals and other memories. They read **ROGERS, S.G.** , as legibly as they could for their age and condition. He’d been found with them on his neck in the ice years ago. Darcy stared down at them in her hand, feeling something wash over her, something she hadn’t expected he’d give her today.

“Steve…”

“I love you,” he said, moving to kiss her on the lips, a short peck.

Darcy made a little whimper, tugging him back, kissing him harder, holding his dog tags in her hand. She didn’t let him go until she needed to take a breath. His eyes were unreadable, so she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her, wanting to breathe with him as the fire crackled in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	3. Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤

_And if this is the long haul_   
_How'd we get here so soon?_   
_Did I close my fist around something delicate?_   
_Did I shatter you?_   
**\- "coney island" by Taylor Swift & The National**

_Oh, but your love is such a swamp_  
 _You don't think before you jump_  
 _And I said I wouldn't get sucked in_ **  
\- "This Is The Last Time" by The National**

_Oh, I could call you names now. List a hundred reasons why you were awful. But what would that do? Where would it leave me? I still loved you. I still have to live with that._ **  
\- Sue Zhao**

_While you were out building other worlds, where was I?_  
 _Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?_  
 _I made you my temple, my mural, my sky_  
 _Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life_  
 _Drawing hearts in the byline_ **  
\- "tolerate it" by Taylor Swift**

**Three.**

“I’m going to be really dramatic.”

Jane glanced up from their feet as they walked. They had done this the last three mornings, walking around Miami Beach after breakfast. It was going to be a big day of eating even though Jane’s family was Jewish and didn’t do their own Christmas celebrations – they were invited to a friend’s place like they were every year, and they wanted to work up an appetite. 

Darcy had only managed coffee that morning, as usual. She’d woken up the usual way, too, remembering where she was and how she’d got there, and she’d cried. The crying hadn’t stopped for weeks, but it wasn’t happening as often or in the same way. She used to not be able to catch her breath, like her ribs had been kicked in and punctured a lung.

“So you’re telling me you haven’t been dramatic this whole time?” Jane said, brows lifting.

She was joking. She was doing what Darcy tended to do with the roles reversed. Darcy felt herself smirk, despite a fresh roll of despair over her. She was in sunny Florida, so different to any other year, with her best friend. How she was feeling made none of that matter.

“This is the worst fucking Christmas, ever,” she said, and Jane took hold of her hand, squeezing it before Darcy took it away, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose.

There were men playing volleyball, wearing tiny swim shorts and Santa hats. Jane smirked at them, distracted for a second as Darcy looked around. She’d come because she couldn’t stand the idea of being alone this year. She’d broken up with Steve six weeks ago, and every time she remembered how long it had been she had to open her phone’s calendar again, despite it being an easy number to remember. Six weeks of not kissing him. Six weeks of explaining to people what happened, and seeing the reactions. She knew plenty of people were disappointed. It didn’t seem to make sense – someone breaking up with Captain America, but Darcy had dated Steve, and the distinction was what mattered.

She remembered having the same conversations with Jane, over and over again, for more than a year. It wasn’t until the fall of that year that she realized she’d been wrong. She’d said so many times that Steve wasn’t the type of person you left. You didn’t let something that good go, but the bad times had begun to outweigh the good, and he’d made her cry. He made her cry so many times that she didn’t know how to tell each occasion apart. She used to think they were bad together but worse apart, but thinking that at all about the person you loved didn’t mean you should be together. She didn’t know exactly when she realized it wasn’t going to work out. It could have been from the start, when he kissed her on the couch for the first time, the fire crackling in the background.

Stepping away for long enough, she knew she’d forgotten there was a world outside of theirs. Now she had to make her way through it alone, and she knew she wasn’t happy. She’d spent days that turned into weeks not sleeping, thumbing through pictures on her phone, wondering if Steve did the same. Had he cried like her? A part of her doubted it, but perhaps that was worse, him imploding while she exploded. It summed them up nicely. She was bitter, she couldn’t deny that. She didn’t want her bitterness seeping into everything else, so telling Jane this now felt like a mistake.

Her friend didn’t respond in any condescending way – she’d gone through the same thing more than once, breaking up with Thor when he’d gone missing without as much as a goodbye, returning like nothing had changed. They were compatible and yet completely mismatched. Soulmates and yet on two different planes of existence. Darcy had watched Jane go through each stage she was going through now, grieving what she’d lost out of choice.

I did this to myself, Darcy kept thinking, when she couldn’t sleep, when her body cried out for Steve’s, to be held, to be kept safe and warm…

“We have to bring a salad,” Jane said, breaking Darcy’s concentration. “For later. I thought we should bring two. Mom told Meredith we’re bringing an extra person.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t come,” Darcy murmured, and Jane gave a little frown.

“What are you gonna do instead?”

Darcy wanted to isolate herself from all the happy people. She didn’t want Jane’s parents and their friends seeing her like this, so morose she should probably go to hospital. Not that she wanted to hurt herself – but she was surprised she managed to get on the same flight as Jane when her friend invited her along. She was surprised she ever made it this far, getting out of bed each morning, peeling herself from the tear-stained pillow.

Darcy’s phone buzzed, Jane’s doing the same, and they both took out their phones, seeing a group text from Bucky and Natasha.

They had stayed behind at the compound that year. They’d sent a picture of Alpine batting an ornament on the fake Christmas tree they’d put in the TV room. Darcy would chime in, replying with something along the lines of _that’s not where it’s meant to be_ and Steve would back her up. Darcy would do so many things, if she hadn’t done what she did.

She was a little surprised she’d been included in the text. She saw Jane smile down at her phone, enlarging it to look closer at Alpine’s white little face.

“He’s so _cuuuuuute_.”

Darcy put her phone away. It was going to be the first of several messages that day, from friends and other well-wishers. She was pretty sure Dominoes had texted her at midnight, suggesting a family-sized pepperoni pizza deal they had on offer, and Darcy knew she’d probably had enough pizza in the last few weeks to not warrant another slice for a good six months…

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t go,” she rasped, and Jane glanced up from her phone, mid-typing.

-

Jane managed to drag her to the party, both of them carrying bowls of salad. Darcy made a potato one while Jane provided a coleslaw, and they were greeted like family even though Darcy had never met most of the people there.

If they noticed how she’d barely tried to look okay for Christmas lunch, they didn’t say it to her face. Darcy picked at her food, wishing she had something deep fried or chocolate-covered. Her weak wine spritzer wasn’t going to cut it either, not if she wanted to dull her senses effectively. She contemplated the bottle of scotch she saw one of the men open, eyeing it from across the living room the dozen or so couples occupied.

She and Jane were the youngest ones there by a good thirty years, but Jane seemed at home. She and Darcy liked to joke that they were both secretly eighty years-old, because of how they acted, liking old-people activities over what was considered cool. Jane was the recipient of multiple badly-knitted items, and Darcy had got a jumbo book of crosswords for Christmas from her that morning.

“Would you like something a little stronger, darling?” came a voice, and Darcy glanced toward it, seeing a man she thought might be named Herb winking at her, his own tumbler of scotch in his arthritic paw.

“Yes, please.”

He got up slowly, walking over to the bottle that stood on the bar, pouring her three fingers in a glass, Darcy taking it from him with a grateful smile. She sipped it, falling back into silence, listening to Jane talk beside her.

She wasn’t drunk when she got up again, but she’d like to be, taking her plate out to the kitchen before anyone could offer to do it for her. She leaned against the sink, listening to the music and the overlapping voices. It was better than being alone could be, it had to be. It was better than what she and Steve would go through if they were both at the compound, alone but together. That would be too much, and frankly stupid for either of them to endure. She bit her lip, thinking of Steve.

She found she was never far from him at any given time. It was a constant, like her heartbeat, something she knew was there but trying to ignore. She took out her phone, seeing Sam had sent her a text, wishing her a Merry Christmas, asking her how she was.

Darcy knew Steve was with him that year, probably dragged kicking and screaming to Atlanta. Sam’s mother was in a home now, using a walker to get around, but she still asked about Darcy. She’d only met her the once but Darlene Wilson acted as though she was her own daughter. The sharpness of her mind made Sam seeing her so physically frail that much harder.

Darcy wanted to ask about Steve, how he was, but she didn’t. Something about that felt unfair. She was worried about him now, when she was the one to break things off? She stared down at Sam’s replies as they came unprompted:

**_We’re still friends Darcy_ **

**_No matter what_ **

That couldn’t be true. Darcy knew it was the circumstances in which she’d broken up with Steve made her exempt from any type of shunning that could occur out of some barbaric ‘bros before hoes’ mentality. Not that Sam had ever indicated she was some random girl to him, an accessory to his friendship with Steve. She’d got the similar message from Bucky a couple weeks ago, not in so many words, but in the hug he gave her without asking for it.

She didn’t know why anyone thought she was fully formed without Steve, a whole person existing in the world outside the one they’d carved out together. Now she was masquerading as a grown woman, in a constant trance of her own making.

She stayed in the kitchen, sniffling and wiping her wet nose with a piece of paper towel, feeling as though she’d never stop crying, when Sam told her Steve wasn’t with him. He was alone in Brooklyn, in the apartment Darcy had stayed in some weekends over the last two years. She’d heard through the grapevine that Steve had gone back to the city. She didn’t have to wonder why, considering he disappeared around Thanksgiving and hadn’t come back. Everything about this story that Sam was telling her, that Steve was in New York while she was in Miami, made her feel like she was too old and too young at the same time.

Darcy hadn’t heard from her own kin in a few months. That line had been drawn in the sand over a year ago. She hadn’t seen her parents all year, and she didn’t plan to do so ever again. She stopped wanting to share her life with them. She’d told Sam all this, after she tried to tell Steve. She didn’t want them having any opportunity to try to reach out and sabotage what she had with Steve. The irony of that was enough to cripple her if she spent too long thinking about it. She sent them a text in the kitchen, sniffling as Sam explained that Steve was keeping to himself that Christmas.

**_Hi Mom and Dad,_ **

**_Happy Holidays_ **

She wanted to feel less alone, but instead it made the distance feel grander. These people were her blood and they didn’t know her. They didn’t give her any warmth, and she supposed she blamed them for how closed off she could be, how fragile she was under her snarky exterior. She didn’t hold her breath for a reply.

-

She left the party, walking back to the Fosters’ apartment, her feet slower. She felt a little buzzed, but the breeze hitting her face was sobering. She took deep lungfuls of it, wishing her chest wasn’t aching, wishing this wasn’t her fault.

Steve would never leave her. He’d made that clear many times, over many fights. She remembered the first time she said aloud something truly traitorous:

“Is it even worth trying to fix? What are we doing?”

Instead of elaborating, she’d clammed up, feeling like the worst type of person, so insensitive to the loss Steve still felt. He was the man out of time, after all, older than she was in so many ways. His suffering, though immense, was still unknown to her. The depth of everything he felt was still tucked away, though she knew him better than most people, and he knew her better than anyone else ever had.

When she got back, she flopped down on her bed with a bottle of wine, cracking it open. She poured a generous glass, turning on the TV. She knew a lot of these things were once Jane’s in her childhood home. The TV was twenty years old at least, its picture fuzzy as Darcy tried to find something tolerable to watch, not that she’d absorb it that well. She intended to get very drunk so that tomorrow she’d have a hangover, something physical to heal. She could be preoccupied with puking, if it came to that. A headache and some Tylenol pressed onto her tongue. Sometimes she liked that about getting her period, too. She could be preoccupied with her body instead of her head, mending herself, carrying the pain inside her, knowing it would only return the following month.

She knew it said something about her, about suffering and nurturing her suffering. She knew there was so much she needed to talk about, to unpack, but not yet. Not that day, and probably not until next year… which wasn’t that long away at all. Whenever Darcy was reminded of that, she wanted to burst into tears again. Having a whole new year ahead of her felt like an endless obstacle, so unknown and terrifying that she caught her breath every time.

She was alone, by choice. She was going to be alone in the world. She might never stop being alone.

She opened her phone, going to her photo gallery, seeing the last image she’d taken of Steve in the camera roll. His back was to her and they were walking under some trees, the colors of the leaves having changed over a weekend. His head was bent, the back of his neck on display as Darcy walked behind him, recording the perfect symmetry of the view she had. He was between two groups of trees. She could remember the smell of the place, the sounds of the leaves crunching underfoot. They had a fight that night, one she didn’t remember too well but they had all blended into the same muck by that point, but Darcy had grown so angry, so fast, that she no longer shielded it from him.

She’d been so defiant in the end, and so unsatisfied. She sighed, moving away. A message popped up, Clint asking her to FaceTime him.

She obliged, propping the phone up against the wine bottle on the bedside table, crossing her legs as she waited for his face to flood her screen. He waved, and then began to sign, as was their tradition.

_“How are you feeling?”_

Darcy decided not to spare his feelings. She signed ‘angry’ and ‘sad’ in quick succession. She shrugged. Clint and Laura were a rare breed of couple, having managed to get through all this, having a civilian and an Avenger in a pair. They had kids, a farm, everything. Darcy had got jealous over time, wondering what the secret formula was, before deciding she was changing all the time, but Steve wasn’t. He was back in 1945, while Darcy was speeding further ahead, light years away from him.

Darcy signed ‘I-S-R-A-E-L-I-T-E-S’ when Clint changed the subject, asking about Florida. He chuckled, signing something Darcy didn’t know.

“Frizzy,” he said aloud, eventually, doing it again. Darcy mirrored him and he nodded.

Jane had stopped flat-ironing her hair while they were in Florida. It wasn’t worth the trouble, with the humidity constantly attacking her. Darcy was the same, but she wasn’t fluent in Hebrew, nor was her family from Israel like Jane’s was. Darcy’s was Polish and rarely spoke about the trauma that was passed down. Darcy knew her great-grandparents had been in a camp during the war, having been ratted out by a neighbor of theirs.

Darcy’s Jewish background wasn’t so well known. She knew if she wanted to explore it, she’d have to engage with her parents, and she didn’t want to. Maybe someday when she’d gathered the strength to write an email, or call. It didn’t feel like it was going to happen anytime soon.

Darcy’s signing was slow, but Clint was patient, he always was, even when he made fun of her for it Darcy knew he was appreciative of her trying. She found herself making sure she never covered her mouth when she spoke to him, either, something she learned early on, and now she did it with everyone, in case a cashier was reading her lips.

Midway through something she was signing, she paused, sucking in a breath, before signing instead:

_“I love you.”_

Clint gave a smile, signing it back. It was so simple, it was probably the second or third thing Darcy ever learned. Darcy felt her eyes prickle.

_“Sorry.”_

She signed it four or five times, not wanting to cry, but her body had other ideas. She wiped at her eyes fiercely, looking away, which she knew was a sign of disrespect but she didn’t want to look at Clint, or speak to him, for a second as she attempted to gather herself back up again. She grabbed her glass of wine and drained what was left of it, putting it aside and sighing.

_“Sorry.”_

Again, so ashamed of herself despite this man accepting every flaw of hers. He had nothing to gain from a friendship with her but he chose Darcy all the same, messy and hopeless that she was.

Clint shook his head, signing:

_“Come to Ohio for New Year’s Eve.”_

Darcy thought about it, shaking her head.

_“No. Bad. Sorry.”_

_“Come to Ohio. We love you.”_

Darcy glanced away again, shutting her eyes as she sniffled. The thought of Clint’s kids seeing her this way made her guts twist, her heart heavy with dread. Except she missed the colder weather, which was so strange. She longed for snow and frozen fingers, and for someone to complain that she was like an icicle. Clint would teach her more swear words and Laura would bake a pie with her. She could get drunk with other people.

She looked back at him, nodding.

_“Okay. I love you. Sorry. I love you. Sorry. Sorry.”_

She hung up with him a few minutes later, Clint sensing she’d reached her limit, waving at her. She could hear his son yelling in the background, and Laura was calling out:

“See you soon, honey!”

Darcy blew a kiss, before he disappeared, and she sat back on her pillows, huffing. She picked up the wine bottle and refilled her glass, eyes swinging toward the TV. _The Wizard of Oz_ was playing. Darcy sipped, staring at Judy Garland’s face.

Which one was she, of Dorothy’s friends? She was probably a combination of all three, or maybe she was Toto, biting and yapping at everything she perceived as danger.

She was midway through the movie, checking her phone again. Jane was updating her, telling her she’d already been set up for a date with two different sons of the people at the party. One was a doctor, and the other was a divorced teacher. Darcy smirked, typing back:

**_Shack up with one or both while I hightail it to the Buckeyes_ **

Jane seemed happy for her to leave, encouraging her, and Darcy was glad she wasn’t really ditching her friend. Darcy knew Jane hadn’t planned for her holidays to go this way. Maybe she’d wear out her welcome with the Bartons super quick, but at least Darcy had a farmhouse to occupy herself with, instead of shuffleboard and checkers with the Fosters.

Her mind was back to Steve, thinking of her refugee status those holidays, wondering what he was doing. She knew she was a little drunk, since she hadn’t yet made herself a proper dinner and she was more than halfway through her bottle of chardonnay.

She opened her last message with him, seeing it was something so basic as asking where he was. It was sent the day they broke up, when she’d tried to go looking for him after she’d stormed off the night before in tears. He hadn’t replied with anything, since she found him soon after she sent it, in the corner of one of the gyms with a punching bag.

Darcy rolled off the bed, careful not to spill her drink, settling on the floor next to her suitcase, her hand going into one of the smaller compartments.

She felt a spike of panic, not finding Steve’s dog tags. She fumbled around, worried they were stolen, her mind reeling at the thought of attempting to find them. It would be a miracle if she managed it – before she found them, wrapped in a pair of her underwear, hidden under a wrinkled shirt.

She felt a wave of relief, sighing as she closed her eyes, feeling the ridges of the tags along her finger tips, blinking down at them in the lamplight of the room. She hadn’t given them back, and Steve hadn’t asked for them. He wouldn’t have forgotten she had them.

She wanted to be stupid, draining her glass of wine, staring down at the tags in her hand, putting her phone to her ear as it began to ring.

Steve picked up after a few rings, Darcy’s breath catching. She knew it was a mistake. She’d be kicking herself later, her resolve already beginning to melt away as she heard him take a breath.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he replied. He swallowed. “Did you mean to call?”

“Yeah,” Darcy croaked. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

Heart on his sleeve and yet so far away. That summed him up perfectly. Darcy’s eyes were swimming already and she sat back, drawing her feet up, her empty glass on the carpet beside her. She licked her lips, waiting for more. He didn’t say anything, so she drew in a breath.

“I heard you’re in Brooklyn.”

She didn’t mean to sound accusatory and she hoped she didn’t, wondering where this conversation was actually going. She knew the point of her calling – she’d missed him, beyond reason, beyond every good thought she’d had in the last six weeks. She was meant to be moving on, and this version of it was getting murkier the longer she stayed on the line.

“Yeah, I came at the start of the month. I’ve been working at the Tower.”

He’d be doing anything but taking time out for himself. She pictured his apartment, dark and empty except for the space he occupied, his record player in a corner, Bing Crosby crooning. She didn’t hear anything now.

“I’m in Miami,” Darcy said, clearing her throat.

“Sam told me.”

He’d asked about her, he’d wanted to know where she was. He had to miss her. Why did she want him to miss her, when she didn’t want to miss him? It didn’t make sense. What was she doing? It was like she’d got stitches and was deliberately straining, wanting to bleed through a bandage.

“Darlene’s got cancer.”

Darcy felt her stomach drop, hearing Steve say this.

“I didn’t know…”

“He told me this afternoon,” he murmured. “Stage four breast cancer.”

Darcy passed a hand over her face, and then she was looking around to find the wine bottle, uncapping it to pour herself a full glass. She sat on the bed, sipping it before she spoke again.

“She didn’t _tell_ him?”

“No, she didn’t. He doesn’t know how long she’s got,” Steve said.

“Jesus Christ,” Darcy whispered. Sam had known this and not told her in any text message he sent. He was keeping his own suffering deep inside, allowing Darcy the space to vent. She tried to think of what to do now, what to say.

She’d begun to cry and hadn’t known, not until Steve murmured:

“It’s okay, Darcy.”

It wasn’t okay, not in the slightest. How could he say that, when everything had turned to shit? Darcy sniffled, a whimper falling from her lips.

“It’s not. Everything hurts so much…”

“I know. I know it does.”

It was so bizarre, that he was comforting her when she’d broken them up. He was alone on Christmas night because of her, and he was worried about her battered heart.

“Baby,” she whispered, the word slipping out.

God, she loved him so much it broke her heart. Her heart couldn’t take the love she felt for Steve. She sniffed, beginning to sob with abandon.

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she heard him say. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	4. Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I measure how much I love these two? The short answer is I can't.
> 
> I'm dedicating this final part to Em_Jaye, for being able to see me, parts of me I've refused to show others for so long. ❤ So many keeses for you, boo.
> 
> The third and final prompt I used is "Visiting a Christmas market".

_There'll be happiness after you_  
_But there was happiness because of you_  
_Both of these things can be true_  
_There is happiness_  
_Past the blood and bruise_  
_Past the curses and cries_  
_Beyond the terror in the nightfall_  
_Haunted by the look in my eyes_  
_That would've loved you for a lifetime_  
_Leave it all behind_  
_And there is happiness_  
**\- "happiness" by Taylor Swift**

_I have ordered to my heart every word I've said_  
_You have no idea how hard I died when you left_  
_If I yield to my trances_  
_Will I get up close again?_  
_I had only one thing to do_  
_And I couldn't do it yet_  
**\- "You Had Your Soul With You" by The National**

_The question pounds my head_  
_"What's a lifetime of achievement?"_  
_If I pushed you to the edge_  
_But you were too polite to leave me_  
_And do you miss the rogue_  
_Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?_  
_Will you forgive my soul_  
_When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?_  
**\- "coney island" by Taylor Swift & The National**

_You dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth_ **  
\- Margaret Atwood**

_I sit and watch you_  
**\- "tolerate it" by Taylor Swift**

**Four.**

“Darcy!”

She turned her head toward the sound of Wanda’s squeal, breaking into her own laugh, seeing the woman racing toward her with her arms open, colliding with her. Darcy had been waiting, knowing they’d arrive sometime that day, as they promised. Wanda, Bucky, Sam, Nat and Steve. She hadn’t known where she’d spend the holidays that year, but it hadn’t frightened her like previous ones. She’d spent so long being afraid of being alone, not understanding that she was introverted for a reason – she was formed that way, and there was nothing wrong with that.

So much of her she’d accepted, and when she took a step back to see what she’d managed to do in those months since last Christmas, she was floored, a little disbelieving she managed to get through it all. And then she remembered what her therapist said:

“You’re strong, Darcy. Stronger than I think you let yourself acknowledge.”

Wanda had raced ahead, finding Darcy in the courtyard with her Kindle, while the others slipped in behind her eventually, and Darcy’s stomach flipped at the sight of Steve. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him earlier – but the circumstances were so different. She’d flown to Atlanta when Darlene passed in the summertime, not speaking to Steve at all because she didn’t have a chance, and because it wasn’t the ideal time. She’d seen Steve wipe a stray tear from his face during the eulogy, Sam between himself and Bucky, hands on their friend’s shoulders. Darcy was glad Sam had everyone there, even people who’d never met Darlene.

Then Bucky and Nat had got married and Darcy had been there, too, so happy for them that she felt like her heart could burst. They’d come back from their honeymoon, work not changing at all though Natasha had taken Bucky’s name. The joke was he should have taken hers, such was their dynamic. Darcy could see he was smitten, nothing really changing that now that it was legal, his eyes following his wife constantly, a warm there that Darcy had seen in Steve’s own eyes for months on end, even when she’d spend hours unfurling every indiscretion, screaming at him how hurt she was.

Sam came forward next for a quick kiss and a hug, then Natasha and Bucky. Steve lingered in the doorway, putting up a hand, Darcy copying him. She ignored how her cheeks had flushed, as if he was a crush she meant to keep secret.

“I was going to a market,” Wanda said, holding Darcy’s hands in her own. “But no-one else wanted to come –”

“I’ll go with you,” Darcy said, shrugging her shoulders.

“I told you she’d say yes,” Wanda said to Sam, who was smirking. “Everyone else is a stick in the mud.”

“Sounds about right,” Darcy muttered, seeing Steve smirk in the corner of her eye.

They walked out, Darcy quiet everyone spoke about their plans for the next few days. She stayed by Wanda’s side, their arms linked as they walked toward the main building, the foyer empty except for the tree Darcy had put up that morning, anticipating their arrival that afternoon.

“We’ll get everything we need from the market,” Wanda said, when Nat asked about making a list.

“If you don’t have a list, Lewis probably already has a mental one,” Sam muttered.

“Obviously,” Darcy said, not feeling singled out in a bad way, but still acknowledged.

It wasn’t about her. Not everything was an attack, or an allowance. She’d learned that over the last several months, that she couldn’t control how people behaved around her. She could only control her own actions, which included her being a good sport and not thinking she was a nuisance all the time, just because she was a human without enhancements. She knew Clint and Sam had managed to come to terms with that, and it took a lot of work.

It didn’t stop the thoughts bubbling up regardless, that she was only worth what she offered to anyone else in her life, and that being herself came at a price. She fought them constantly, even now as Wanda waited for her to gather her things to leave in the car for the market near the Christmas tree farm she’d tried to not think about. Wanda had chosen her, thought of her before she got there, she wasn’t being kind because she felt obligated to. Wanda was a kind soul and loved Darcy.

They wandered down the lines of stalls, hand in hand, Wanda grabbing random things along the way, presents for the others. She wasn’t like Darcy, deliberating over something perfect for so long that she second-guessed every choice. It wasn’t about whether she pleased everyone to a certain degree. She chose a vase for Nat even though Nat had never said she wanted a vase, because it was beautiful and she said it was for a beautiful woman like Nat.

Darcy had expected the conversation to reach Steve at some point but she still felt her stomach flutter when he was finally acknowledged, after Darcy said she’d deleted Bumble again.

“Are you still texting Steve?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, looking away, at a row of mini Christmas trees that came up to her mid-thigh, reaching out to touch the tip of one. “But we talk on the phone more.”

Steve preferred it, she knew. He didn’t mind texting but if he could speak he chose that instead. Darcy was the opposite, and she didn’t always pick up the phone when he called, not if she didn’t want to. He didn’t nag her for attention. Darcy knew it meant something, that he was being patient and she wasn’t afraid of losing him. Not that anything else had really changed, they were still broken up.

Her friendship with Steve was almost constantly ignoring that they were once more than that. It was still painful to remember how awful she’d been to him in the end, and how he’d made her feel in turn. She spoken about Steve to other people, for hours at a time, over weeks and months. She’d cried and wailed. She’d opened and shut her messages to him over and over. She wrote speeches on paper she never intended to say aloud. She slept with other people, thought of him the whole time, come alone with him on her mind – she’d folded their story over and over again in their mind, recalling things she’d forgotten, being spiteful and drunk, sweet and sober. She’d been everything, and she was still in love with him. That wasn’t going to stop, and maybe she’d only have a second-best kind of connection with every man from now on, but she’d keep that to herself.

She didn’t feel like she was being false nowadays. She was the most herself she’d ever been. She’d found her skin, growing into it, knowing this came with time.

Steve had stayed in the city and Darcy had always wondered how he was. She suspected he didn’t tell her the whole truth, simply because he didn’t think it was her burden anymore. That was only partly true - and she’d expressed that recently, that she wanted to know about his life, even if he was sleeping with other people. As far as she knew, he wasn’t, and she didn’t think he was the type to lie about that. He had nothing to gain, since he wasn’t stringing her along – she was running free, but constantly looking behind her, searching for his face.

She wasn’t going to acknowledge that now, not with Wanda watching her with a hopefulness that made Darcy’s chest ache. She knew Wanda was gunning for a reunion, since the holidays was the perfect opportunity, and their first time was three Christmases ago.

She was older now, and she’d like to think she was wiser, so she gave Wanda a little smile when she sensed she was being watched for any sign.

“What about you and Sam?” she murmured, and Wanda rolled her eyes, shrugging.

“I… I don’t know,” she muttered, and she’d gone pink.

They returned to the compound with the trunk full, not just from the market but also the grocery store. Darcy said it was the last time she was going out, at least until the day after Christmas, Bucky putting up his hands in self-defense.

“Alright. Noted.”

Darcy spent the rest of the day baking, everyone drifting in and out of the kitchens except for Steve. She did her best not to let it get to her, failing by the time she went to bed, her room feeling colder.

-

“Shut the fuck up, are you serious?” Darcy yelled, shoving Bucky in the chest. “Seriously?”

“Yes – can you – quit that?” he said, grabbing her fingers, forcing her to stop.

Darcy had begun to cry tears of joy, Bucky’s eyes shining back at her. They were standing in the kitchen the following morning. He’d let it slip that his and Nat’s adoption had gone through, and they were going to meet their toddler son next month.

“Please don’t cry, for fuck’s sake,” he whispered, and Darcy was grabbing hold of him to hug him.

She hadn’t cried like this before, for other people, so happy for them that she couldn’t keep it inside. It went beyond joy, it felt so right for it to happen to these good people. They were some of the best people Darcy had ever met.

Bucky kissed her face several times, rubbing her back, his voice changing as footsteps came behind them, Darcy sniffling.

“She’s okay,” he said, talking to whoever it was, and Darcy realized it was Steve, turning her head away from him when she caught a quick glance, swiping at her eyes. “I told her –”

“I’m fine,” Darcy mumbled. She was laughing and sobbing, a real mess when they broke apart. Bucky rubbed her arms and she sniffed loudly, so unattractive.

Darcy made herself turn around, laughing a little at Steve, who was looking at her with a small smile on his face.

“You knew?”

“Sworn to secrecy,” Bucky said, nodding. “Guess you two have some catching up to do.”

Darcy didn’t miss what was implied, that she and Steve were being encouraged to be alone, and a part of her wanted to grab hold of Bucky again and make him stay, but he slipped away, his toast in hand, Steve staring after him. Darcy was partway through making her second coffee of the day, Steve nodding at it sitting under the machine.

“Probably doesn’t help that they caffeine hasn’t kicked in,” he murmured, and Darcy nodded, stomach fluttering.

He knew her so well, still, and he wasn’t bitter about it. She pressed another button and the machine sprang back to life, whirring and ejecting steaming liquid into her mug. Steve went to the fridge, getting out the milk. He’d have cereal and then a couple rounds of toast, sitting with a newspaper at the table. Darcy told herself not to shy away from him, since they were friends.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked, and he paused, mid-pour of his milk.

“Sure.”

They didn’t say much else to one another, the time passing between them, and Darcy reminded of when they did this regularly, usually at his table in his apartment, Darcy not wearing proper pants, her hair a tangled mess. Steve would tug her into his lap, kiss her breathless, Darcy giggly and shivering under his capable touch.

Remembering that now felt like a betrayal, her eyes on her phone for the most part. When she finished her mug, she got up, taking Steve’s empty cereal bowl with her to the sink.

“Thank you,” she heard him murmur.

“You’re welcome.”

-

The more she was around him, the more Darcy began to overthink. She watched him for cues, wondering if he was doing the same with her, wondering what he saw and whether he got it right. Steve didn’t seem the type to read too much into anything. She hadn’t done that when they were together, as far as Darcy knew. Perhaps he’d truly moved on, friendship on his mind, a tentative companionship that Darcy was plaguing with her insecurities like always.

She paradoxically regressed and aged at the same time, following his movements whenever they shared a room, looking away when he looked toward her. She thought of his dog tags, knowing she had them in her room under her pillow, or hanging from her headboard as she slept.

She stayed far enough away from him for it to be noted, in the way she saw thoughts pass over the others, the two distinct islands of Darcy and Steve, the channel in between that their friends occupied. She knew she needed to talk to him, to make it shrink, so she wasn’t thinking too much. Communication was key, that was obvious.

She found him on Christmas Eve, catching him on the couch, the same couch she’d sat with him on hundreds of times. Some of their best sex was on that couch, not that anyone else needed to know that. Darcy suspected Bucky and Nat would have the same secret.

“What are you watching?” she asked.

She immediately felt it, the familiarity she’d never been able to shake, not with physical distance or time. He would never turn back into a stranger, no matter how well either of them gave that a shot. He was the love of her life, she realized, in that sickening moment when their eyes met, Steve looking away from the TV.

“ _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ ,” he said, though they both knew Darcy knew the answer.

She’d watched it with him before. Darcy nodded, swallowing.

“I was gonna make hot chocolate, would you like one?”

“Yes, please.”

They were so polite to one another. Darcy forced a little smile, ducking her head and walking out. She was in the kitchen, hating how she was fumbling everything. She came back to him, handing him a mug. They sat on either end of the couch, Darcy hoping someone like Sam or Wanda would walk in, but also hoping they’d stay undisturbed.

She stayed until the end, not saying a word until Steve did.

“I’m heading to bed.”

“Me, too,” she murmured, stretching though she didn’t need to, lingering.

She wanted him to invite her to his apartment, slip inside, push her up against his wall and kiss her. She wanted him to hold her, leave marks she couldn’t deny in the morning, break her heart over again. Because she knew she’d do it all again, she had no regrets, she just didn’t know how to tell him, and she knew she was afraid of hurting him again.

She went to bed alone, putting the dog tags on her headboard so that she woke up Christmas morning, remembering the night and feeling her eyes well with tears.

-

Darcy walked in the snow, hearing Sam call out to her, nearly slipping over as she jolted. He jogged over, his breath in front of his face. He blew on his hands, cupping them and shaking his head at Darcy.

“You’d have to be insane to be out here right now.”

“Probably,” Darcy murmured. “But I didn’t think that was really up for debate anymore.”

Christmas morning and she wasn’t ripping open presents with everyone else. She lifted her brows a little at Sam in challenge.

“And why are you out here?”

“You know why.”

She felt her smile falter, looking away, at the field covered with snow. She’d got up at dawn and couldn’t shake the feeling that had seeped into her bones, the longing she could no longer ignore. It felt ancient, bigger than what she thought she was capable of feeling. Steve did that to her every time, catching her by surprise. She thought she’d felt everything before she knew him, and then she met herself for the first time, the version she gave him, and the version she became after she left him behind.

“Sam, I can’t do that to him, it’s not fair.”

“He was surprised you stayed here,” Sam said. “When he knew Wanda had told you we would all be here for the holidays.”

“Where else was I meant to go?” Darcy said, laughing a little, involuntary. “This is my home.”

“Yeah, I told him that,” Sam said. “He didn’t think he should come, in case it was invading your space.”

It was just like Steve, to believe he was the villain in all this, when Darcy was the one to call it quits. As if she’d done nothing wrong, and she’d only dealt with the worst sides of him and everything he got from her was justified… but that was so untrue it bothered her too much to ignore.

“That’s insane,” she whispered, and Sam grinned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what, like I ever stopped looking at you like this?” he said, and Darcy pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say. “You’re made for each other, like my parents. Doesn’t mean they never fought.”

“He…”

“I know what he did, he told me everything,” Sam said, and Darcy nodded, feeling her guts twist. “And even if he hadn’t told me, I would’ve guessed right. But…”

“But what?” Darcy said, and Sam shook his head.

“You should talk to him.”

“And say _what_?” Darcy said, a little louder, a frustration beginning to unfurl. “What if I’ve moved on? What if I change my mind and take it all back? What – what am I supposed to do then?”

“I don’t know, Darcy,” Sam murmured. “But I’m going to have a scary conversation with Wanda when I get the chance. Because life is fucking short. So much shorter than you realize.”

“I have some idea,” Darcy said, her voice beginning to wobble. She felt herself smile at the mention of Wanda despite herself. “I keep forgetting I’m twenty-eight and I don’t like it.”

“Well, Steve’s more than one-hundred.”

Darcy felt hot tears well in her eyes and she laughed, ducking her head.

-

Darcy hid away in her apartment the whole morning, pacing her rooms, feeling something cling to her, a type of giddiness she’d not let herself feel for months. She was excited to see Steve again, in whatever capacity he would allow her.

She showed up around lunchtime, everyone looking at her when she walked into the kitchen, Bucky and Sam cheering with Nat joining in. Sam’s arm was around Wanda, and Darcy felt her heart soar for them. She knew how everyone else felt about her and Steve in that moment.

“Long time, no see,” Bucky said. “We opened presents without you.”

“Good,” Darcy retorted. She stood near Steve, aware of the lack of space between them. “I’ll open mine later.”

She didn’t care about the presents. She slipped into the chair between Wanda and Steve, scooting it forward, picking up her knife and fork. As the lunch wore on, Darcy felt a warmth bloom in her chest, back to belonging, no longer checking every move Steve made.

Her hand held her glass of red wine, sipping it as she giggled at something Wanda said, her spare hand between her chair and Steve’s. She glanced down, when Bucky had the attention of the room, talking about baseball, Sam scoffing every so often, Nat grinning.

Steve’s hand was next to hers. She glanced back up, reaching, her fingers finding his. The backs of their hands brushed, knuckles tentatively bumping, before Steve’s hand slipped into hers, Darcy pulling in a breath. She knew she was blushing, but she was thinking clearly.

She pulled back when Bucky looked at her, asking about cookies. She rose from her chair quickly, getting up to retrieve the batch she’d made, handing Bucky the jar, everyone clapping, including Steve.

She was cleaning up with Wanda, everyone sitting at the table, until the Barnes’ began to pull away, Bucky mentioning a nap. Wanda then looked at Sam, brows lifting at him ever so slightly, before she shot Darcy a look.

“Have fun,” Wanda whispered, and Darcy felt her face slacken, eyes ducking to the dirty dishes.

So maybe she hadn’t been so subtle at lunch. She swallowed, her back to Steve as he stayed on his chair. Darcy put aside the last dish she was rinsing, draining the sink and wiping her hands on a towel. She looked over at Steve, leaning against the sink.

“You know I’ll always love you, right?” she murmured.

He didn’t blink, only stared back at her, drawing in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “And I’ll always love you, too.”

He swallowed, eyes falling to his hands. His nails were bitten down, like always. Darcy looked at her own hands, at the chipped polish and the split cuticles, before she glanced back up.

“I already made the mistake of losing you the first time, Darcy,” he said, and he was up from his chair, moving toward her.

Darcy’s heartbeat picked up speed, and she nodded.

“I know I wasn’t trying hard enough. I wasn’t… I wasn’t letting you in. Not enough.”

Darcy swallowed. “And I poured everything into you, when it wasn’t your job to make me happy.”

“I wouldn’t mind if it was,” he whispered. “Because I think I’d do my best job at it this time.”

Darcy felt her eyes smart, sucking in a breath. “Baby…”

“I know,” he whispered, his own eyes beginning to shine, and he was closing in on her, pulling her into his arms for a tight hug. “I know, baby.”

Darcy gave a little sob, biting her lip, surrendering to him, feeling all of him cling to her, breathing him in, knowing he was climbing back into her heart, having left it open for him the entire year. She was reaching up, kissing his cheek, then closer, to the corner of his mouth, and then he was taking hold of her face, kissing her on the lips, Darcy sobbing and beginning to laugh, Steve’s eyes spilling over in the process.

-

They made it back to her apartment, Steve kicking the door shut and gathering her back into his arms like they had countless times before, Steve’s tongue stroking hers, stoking the fire of desire low in Darcy’s belly, her hands tugging at Steve’s flannel shirt, fumbling the buttons open and pulling the material down and off his body.

They walked backwards into her bedroom, until Steve paused, pulling back with a smack of their lips.

“I’m seeing a therapist,” he said, and Darcy nodded. “I – I’m taking the pills, I’m still havin’ nightmares but I’m –”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Darcy whispered.

“Because,” he said, and Darcy followed his line of sight, seeing what he was staring at from the end of her bed.

It was his dog tags, hanging above where she slept every night. She turned back toward him, stroking his face, Steve doing the same to her.

“I don’t want you to think we have to start again –”

“It never finished, Steve,” Darcy whispered, and he nodded, a wet laugh following. She wiped his tears away, the ones that fell down onto her own face. “Wait – you were willing to fuck me and let me walk away again?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Because I love you, I’d do whatever you wanted me to.”

“Fucking idiot,” she whispered, kissing him, neither of them quite closing their mouths in the process, moans blending together.

He buried his face between her thighs when he managed to get her on her back, his arms wrapped around her legs, Darcy’s fingers deep in his hair, her hips lifting off the bed. It was rushed and messy, but it was everything she wanted. She pulled him into her, both of them groaning, Steve’s mouth tasting of her musk, his scent all over her, too.

“I missed you,” he whispered, beginning to thrust. “Fuck, I missed you so much…”

“I missed you, too,” Darcy whispered.

It was rough enough for Darcy to grit her teeth, a groan ebbing from her mouth with each slam of Steve inside her, her legs pushed up until her ankles were at Steve’s neck, her body bent in half, her core tightened.

Their tongues tangled, Steve’s moans growing more desperate, Darcy’s body crying out for a release she knew he’d give, he knew her that well, could read her cues. He would follow her wherever she went.

“Oh, God,” he whimpered, and he came, seconds after Darcy did, still clenching around him as he spilled inside her, panting into each other’s mouths, the room spinning…

Darcy clung to him, Steve sighing, pulling back to lay his head on her chest, hearing her racing heart.

She got up, Steve following her into bathroom. They both cleaned up, Darcy’s eyes catching his, Steve’s eyes catching hers. The love of her life. The love of her life.

_The love of her life._

“Darcy Lewis,” he whispered, when she moved toward him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, I love you, thank you, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


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